


Quiet Revelations

by summerartist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerartist/pseuds/summerartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashir is struggling to accept a grievous piece of news. He finds an adviser in an unlikely way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> All that I'm trying to achieve with this story is to entertain you with pretty pictures and to satisfy a writing need. This is another season 5 timeframe fic.

There was a knock on Jadzia’s door and she called for the visitor to come in. The Trill had been in the middle of pinning her hair back. A bat’leth sat on the couch, ready for her to pluck up before her departure. Julian Bashir processed all of these things in rapid succession before coming to the conclusion that Dax was on her way to go fight with Worf in the holosuites. As the doctor walked in, Jadzia paused to glance up. Julian looked exceptionally tired and the skin around his eyes was dark and faintly pink as though he had rubbed at his closed eyelids. Jadzia’s gaze was sympathetic. She knew that something was of the doctor’s mind, but she did not have time to talk.

“I’m sorry, Julian. I’m on my way to the holosuites and I’m already running behind schedule. Worf will never let me live it down if I don’t show up. This would end up being the second battle in a row that I've had to cancel,” Jadzia told him apologetically.

Bashir nodded. “I know and I don’t mean to intrude, but I came to ask a favor.”

Jadzia surveyed him curiously as she hoisted her weapon over her shoulder.

“Could I borrow a holosuite program of yours? Not the Klingon one, obviously, but a relaxing one?” Julian asked hesitantly.

She smiled, eyes twinkling with sudden mischief. “That depends on what kind of relaxation you prefer.” She gestured over to her desk drawer of data rods, “I’ve built up quite a collection, but I can save you the trouble of looking if you would tell me what program you were searching for. Were you looking for action, adventure, sex, the great outdoors...?”

Bashir shook his head, ears tinging scarlet. 

“No, none of that. I want something like you and Kira use, like massage or sauna. I don’t have those kinds of programs on hand.”

Her expression turned sympathetic. “Ouch, rough day? Sure, I have something like that.” Jadzia instantly procured a computer vial.

 “It’s a massage experience at some of Bajor’s best medicinal baths. It’s easy to personalize and it has a few hidden surprises if you let it run for a while.”

Instead of perking up, Bashir suddenly looked troubled. “Oh, I’m not up to-well-“

“Trust me. It’s perfect and it won’t exhaust you. You can even turn the safeties completely off. I should go.” She hastily slid the isolinear rod into his palm and placed a hand on his shoulder. Then Jadzia Dax was out the door, leaving the doctor alone in her quarters.

Hunched over and brooding, Bashir clutched the little golden vial. He was not up to being manhandled unexpectedly by a program should Jadzia have tampered with it to make it more exciting. Bashir enjoyed a little spicy treatment with his partners, but now was not the time for that sort of activity. He just wanted to sit back and think.  A soothing massage would be the perfect addition to his evening if only his head was not so full of recriminating thoughts and depressing war tallies.

With a sigh, Bashir tucked the program in his pocket and went to go fetch a towel from his quarters. He slung it over his shoulder, not bothering to change into civilian clothing. He ventured onto the prominade with a glazed far-away expression.

In the next few minutes he arrived at Quark’s. There was a large crowd gambling that evening and he had to dodge around the throng of people. He was elbowed, jabbed, and poked while trying to navigate through the doorway. A rare crowd of visiting Bajorans had gathered at Quark’s. Ever since the war started, the Bajoran people had kept more and more to themselves. They rarely ventured off their home planet. Bashir was oddly glad to see them, but also impatient to find somewhere quiet.

“Quark!” The doctor barked over the chaos.

“Busy! Holosuites 2 and 5 are open all evening,” Quark shouted back as he rummaged through his stock behind the bar.

Taking that as an acknowledgement of the utilization of the suites, Bashir headed back to Holosuite 5. It was far from his favorite suite, but the other suite available was known for clientele seeking release of a sexual nature. It was regularly decontaminated, but Bashir’s doctor instincts did not trust it one jot. He had seen too many different STDs to ever be truly comfortable enough to use a holosuite for erotic purposes. Too many alien species transmitted diseases through traces of body fluids.

Shaking the unpleasant thoughts from his head, Julian loaded the data rod and watched the holosuite hum to life. Lights on the door flickered and Bashir keyed it open. A blast of warm air hit him.

Smiling, Bashir walked into the simulation. The sun was shining on the little valley of Bajor. Hills rose up in the background and birdsong echoed faintly through the air. It was an open resort made of stone with heated pools of water pocketing the tiling. There were several wooden massage tables and heating stones sitting out. Bottles of different oils sat on a small stone bench and several marble arches stood aloft for no foreseeable purpose except to drape filmy transparent cloth over the scene. It was a fragrant and picturesque atmosphere.

He heard two Bajorans bathing and chatting in the pools, lilting language going untranslated and unremarked upon as the two simulations bobbed around in the water. A soft voice greeted him and Bashir saw a Bajoran approach him. Her hair was black and her skin had been tanned to a warm glow. She was tall and willowy, much like him. She wore a customer service uniform and an elaborate earring that sparkled in the glow of the setting sun. Julian had to admire the sheer amount of physical detail in this program.

“What can I do for you today?” She spoke nonjudgmentally like a typical piece of programming.

“Just a massage, please-a long one," exhaustion crept into his voice. “You can use that lavender based oil on the bench over there. I could do with something herbal.” He was not keen to find out if he was allergic to a Bajoran root or flower extract from the selection of oils. He was not usually this paranoid, but the holosuite safeties were off and it would not have been the first time that he had broken out in hives because of a Bajoran skin treatment.

The woman walked away for a moment while Bashir shucked his uniform shirt. He paused briefly before he stood to take everything off except his smalls. He was already feeling exposed, cornered, and pent up; he did not need to feel any additional hint of embarrassment. He wrapped the towel over his waist and lay down. She came back, announcing her presence by humming a faint Bajoran tune. He heard her open the bottle and rub her hands together after she poured oil into her palms. She drizzled a little over his back and started rubbing soft strokes over his shoulders. It was soothing, but hardly effective enough for his stiff muscles. He saw a robed Bajoran walk past the massage bench, but he did not think anything of the wanderer. Programs like this were meant to appear as the real thing, which meant that ordinary and real looking people strolled around to give the illusion of other guests receiving the same treatments. 

The woman steadily pressed on Bashir’s back, stroking around his shoulderblades and his waist. She rubbed his ankles and the backs of his shins. Bashir found his mind wandering. She paid particular attention to the underside of his knees. It was uncomfortable and he squirmed and focused on trying to relax his mind. He inhaled and exhaled long meditative breaths. He heard the Bajoran woman pause to retrieve more oil. There was a soft whisper of voices and more lavender scent filled the air.

Slightly cool hands kneaded the back of his neck and Bashir was too lost in thought to realize that the fingers stroking his neck were stubbier and stronger than they had been moments before. The hands rubbed harder and harder over his trapezious and they stroked his latissimus dorsi. His thoracolumbar fascia region was kneaded and his sore muscles protested the treatment. Bashir grimaced. It was painful and yet his back was gradually unknotting. He drew in a sharp breath when a tender spot was touched too roughly. The massage expert paused and rubbed soothing circles around it until his muscles unclenched and allowed the taunt muscle to be treated. Bashir sighed heavily, feeling his body spread out under the skilled ministrations. These healing hands knew what they were doing and they were incredibly strong, but careful.

Julian suddenly realized that it was probably a man massaging his back. The scent, height, and bulk of the figure from the doctor’s peripheral vision all brought him to the conclusion, but he was finally too relaxed and peaceful to open his eyes. He did not care where a massage came from, be it man, woman, or androgynous being. What mattered to him was if they were experienced at massaging, and this man was programmed to be effective. Bashir was not even bashfully aroused, just sleepy and relaxed. As the hands stroked his biceps and roamed over his back again, Bashir’s chest gave a deep rumble like a cat. He sucked in air and exhaled it in a contented hum that vibrated through his wiry frame. The man treating him halted his ministrations.

“Why doctor, I had no idea that humans could even make such a noise.”

Bashir’s eyes flew open, mind hoping that this was all a strange dream.  He shifted his body around, propping himself on his elbow as he surveyed the man.

“Garak?” He pronounced the name at an embarrassingly high pitch. It was a stark contrast to the deep purr that had reverberated through him moments before.

The Cardassian inclined his head as if they had casually bumped into each other on an afternoon outing. Garak’s gray hands were shimmering with oil. He smiled enigmatically at the young doctor.

“I trust that my ministrations were effective? One would think you had the viscosity of Odo in his liquid state. I half expected you to melt into a puddle and pool onto the floor.” Garak said teasingly.

The tailor blinked at him like a contented reptile that had just finished basking in the sun. His smile was a mask of innocence that could fool any acquaintance except Bashir. The doctor was still limply spread over the table. He had been tired, but now he was becoming more alert. Irritation coursed through him. How dare Garak slip into his program and touch him like that. Bashir had actually purred at him. Purred! The Cardassian had no right to hear him emit pleasured sounds when he had thought that he was alone. Bashir’s face was turning scarlet.

“How could you-Garak, this has gone far enough! Computer…” He hesitated.

Julian wanted to call for security or end the program. He had to do something to let Garak know he had crossed a line.

“Doctor, please let me explain my actions before you do anything rash,” the Cardassian entreated him.

“I know what you were doing! You were sneaking up on me and conducting some sort of power play, weren’t you? I’m well aware that you could have snapped my neck at any moment or damaged my spine, but you don’t have to prove to me that you have the upper hand!” Bashir said grumpily.

“Doctor!” The tailor appeared to be offended. “You know me better than that. That sort of base narcissism and power play is Gul Dukat’s forte, not mine. Would it surprise you if I said I was simply trying to repay a favor?” Garak wiped off his lavender scented hands on an available hand towel as he spoke. “If I had wanted to make you aware of your vulnerability, there are more effective means of doing so.”

Bashir considered, pulling his towel into a snug position around his legs. “I suppose.”

Garak’s smile fell as he noticed Bashir cover himself protectively. The doctor was not a shy man, but he seemed out of sorts. The tailor went for the nonthreatening approach.

Giving an indifferent shrug, the Cardassian added, “She made a hash out of that massage. Not even the real Bajorans would stoop to creating such a horrible resort experience.”

Bashir scowled. “So am I expected to believe that this was all because you wanted to correct the art of massage? Most human cultures regard a full massage as…sexual...if done by someone they are familiar with.”

Again, the doctor’s discussion of the topic had turned skittish. It was clear that Garak’s advances would be unwelcome and he switched back to his clinical, conversational attitude. 

Garak shook his head disapprovingly. “What a narrow view of the art. I will never understand the attitude in which humans regard anything in terms of touch as sexual. You know, I think such social practices have made your species starved for physical affection.”

Bashir sighed. He did not want to go through this banter that Elim insisted on keeping up. He was worn out and melancholy. He wanted nothing more than for the tailor to cease his prattling and get another person to tend to his aches and pains.

“You’ve done your part to help me, now I would just like to lay here and think in peace and quiet.” Julian said harshly as he leveled himself back down. Julian swallowed, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. He turned his head away and his shoulders have a minute shudder. The movement of the shake was easy to map out in the twisting of the sinews beneath his bronzed skin. Garak gave him a puzzled look.

“Are you well?” the tailor asked politely.

Humans did not shiver in this warm sunny climate. Bashir’s hostility combined with his sore muscles pointed to a misfortune or a sudden bout of sickness.

“I just need time to think,” Julian said softly.

The tone made the Cardassian pause. He stepped closer.

“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

Bashir quickly shook his head.

“My dear doctor, are you certain of that? I am a man of many talents and keeping confidences has become an art form.” He spoke soothingly, hoping to coax Bashir to speak. Garak could tell that this was not the occasional disagreement with Chief O’Brien or a breakup with a Dabo girl. It was something that brought forth a tense form of internal fear in the doctor. His muscles had already coiled to spring into action despite his efforts to lie there peacefully.

“Doctor?”

“My father is ill.”

The Cardassian blinked down at him. This was not what he had been expecting. He knew that Bashir’s parents’ relationship was complicated due to Bashir’s genetic enhancements, but their love for their son was more than Garak had ever been granted by his father. Julian’s treatment of his parents seemed simultaneously close and distant because of the obstacles of the past.

“You’re going to visit your parents?” The Cardassian concluded.

To his surprise, Bashir shook his head. “It’s wartime and Sisko can’t spare me.”

Bashir had gone rigid, and Garak was suddenly tempted to dig his hands into his muscles again, but he refrained from bestowing physical comfort. The doctor’s mercurial mood made him a trifle wary of his young companion.

“Not even for a few days?” Garak asked curiously.

“If I leave Starfleet now, I won’t be coming back.” Bashir’s voice had gone cold and bitter.

“Whyever not?” The tailor frowned.

“It’s terminal. He has a month, maybe a month and a half.” Julian’s words got caught in his throat and he coughed.

Garak watched his reactions carefully. The human appeared to have already grieved to some extent, but he could sense a veritable storm of emotions Bashir had kept hidden and shoved down. He knew that he had to deal delicately with this subject.

“Why not bring them here? Your father would be under your talented care and Captain Sisko would graciously provide quarters to your parents. He’s always been the hospitable sort,”Garak hedged.

In hindsight, the quickly voiced idea sounded insensitive. He should have apologized or shown sympathy, but those human and Starfleet customs eluded him. Bashir’s shoulders were shivering more intensely now, but not because of the breeze in the holosuite. The young man’s voice was hollow.

“He’s still imprisoned after Starfleet found out about my genetic enhancements. He wouldn’t be allowed to travel here.” Bashir’s back spasmed.

The wooden massage table creaked as the tailor gingerly sat down on the edge of it. His feet hung childishly above the floor as he perched there, using his proximity as a form of comfort. Cardassians were physically close to each other’s family members during a misfortune.

“I know that you have been filling your head with foolish guilty thoughts, doctor, but none of these events were of your making.”

Bashir went as taunt as a bow string and he rose up like an agitated snake ready to lash out.

“It was my fault that Starfleet found out about me. If I had turned down Dr. Zimmerman’s project, then my father would never have been imprisoned.  Now he-“ Bashir’s words faltered as his lips trembled. He started gnawing on his lower lip to mask the shaking of his features.

Garak watched all of this with a sympathetic look in his eyes. Bashir’s misplaced guilt was unacceptable. The doctor already blamed himself for the casualties occurring daily in the Dominion war. Julian did not need to feel the added guilt for his father’s fate. Garak had chosen to disregard the impossibility of Bashir’s parents stay at the station. Perhaps he could pull a few strings and transfer Richard Bashir’s custody over to Odo, but right now it was the son and not the father that he could assist.

“Your father knew what he had committed to once he gave you your genetic enhancements. Perhaps your secret would have remained undetected if you had refused to take part in Dr. Zimmerman’s research, but then you would never have reconciled with him. The Captain told me that your father seemed pleased with how things turned out.” Garak told him placatingly.

“He’s doing penance for his efforts on my behalf,” Bashir said softly.

“Exactly, and for that he seemed the most grateful. You have contemplated fatherhood before, have you not? Wouldn’t you have made such a sacrifice for a son?”

Bashir stared at him with surprise.

“It is no secret that you were considering the position of a pediatric doctor. One can only assume that you did so out of fondness for the thought of raising children,” the tailor said.

The young human appeared thoughtful, contemplating his words. His argument had been empathetic, and it eased his guilt far more than empty platitudes. He observed Garak’s kind features. The Cardassian’s eyes were no longer languidly hooded and his attempt at seduction had rapidly turned into a discussion with a friend. Julian had not been adverse to what Elim had offered, but now was not the moment to sort out their feelings.

The doctor was still struggling with grief and a small fleeting hope that he might be able to save his father. Yet, he knew with a heavy heart that the odds were 3,062.93 to 1 that he would find a cure in time. Tomorrow his father’s body might start breaking down, or the next day or the next. There was no predicting the rapid assault of the disease. His brain could shut down by next week due to the cancer-like growth that had spread through his cerebral cortex. The odds were racking up against him.

Julian’s grief was choking him as intensely as it had been before. His head pounded and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He was breathing harshly, on the verge of hyperventilating. He felt all the blood drain from his face as the shock of losing his father sunk in. It had not hit him so completely as it did now. Abruptly, Garak put his hand on the back of his neck.

“Tilt your head down, doctor.” The Cardassian gave an encouraging push so that his head nearly touched his knees. “I insist that you refrain from passing out if at all possible.”

“I’m fine,” Bashir insisted. The statement was ludicrous considering his bent position and croaky voice.

“Would you care for a drink? I could pull Quark away from his little party to get you something,” Garak politely offered.

Bashir shook his head and then winced when their surroundings spun around him.

“I think it might be best to avoid alcohol when I’m this light-headed.”

Garak frowned, contemplating. He slid gracefully off his perch.

“Wait right here-no, keep your head down if you please, doctor.” The tailor motioned him to keep leaning forward. “I shall be back directly.”

Bashir remained there as the Cardassian strolled out. Julian was touched that Garak was so concerned that he was giving him advice and then a fortifying drink. He just hoped Garak would bring something non-alcoholic. With Julian’s emotional state being what it was, he might have been tempted to wreck his sobriety. Bashir tilted his head up and surveyed the sky. He reached for a spare towel sitting atop an adjacent bench and drew it across his shoulders. He could not fight off a chill that had gone bone deep.  

His relationship with his father had never been the easiest. Richard Bashir was strict about Julian’s academic pursuits. He frequently checked up on him in medical school and badgered him about his extracurricular activities. Bashir’s attempt to play tennis as a pro had been furiously objected to by his parents. Yet, it was his father who gave him Kukalaka and it was his father who taught him how to swim and play outdoor games. Richard Bashir would sit and listen to him read in the evenings. They discussed literature in a different venue than Bashir did with Garak, but those evenings were when Julian’s love for reading had blossomed.

In what seemed like no time at all, Garak came back with an entire serving tray with two generously full glasses and a plate of hors d'oeuvres. The drinks were pale and served with a generous amount of ice. Bashir suddenly felt parched when faced with the tantalizing cold liquid. Garak had frowned a little when he saw Bashir sitting up with rigid posture. The doctor’s skin had a grey cast in its bloodless state.

“I have brought lemonade and the Ferengi waiter assured me that it is a non-alcoholic beverage. I must confess that I didn’t catch the name of the meal. It was too noisy to hear much of anything.”

Bashir reached for the lemonade, an eager sparkle in his eyes that made the Cardassian give a satisfied smirk. They ended up making an odd little picnic out of it right there on the massage bench. Wisely, the Bajoran simulations had stayed away from their makeshift sanctuary. Bashir could not help but contemplate how serene this was. He was still disturbed on a subconscious level, and he was trying very hard to avoid tallying up statistics about his father’s life and the success of the Dominion war. Yet, it was with some measure of comfort that he was sitting here with Garak drinking lemonade. They watched the endless sunset for a time and Garak had pulled some rather entertaining faces upon first trying the drink, but he adapted to the flavor. Julian had begun to unwind. His face had regained its healthy flush and his muscles loosened.

“You’re a godsend, Garak. I must have forgotten to eat for a while…wait a minute, how did you get a hold of a serving tray? Quark never lets his customers lay a finger on them, much less snatch one for a holosuite session.”

Garak gave him a devious smile.

“Quark is going to charge me an arm and a leg for this holosuite visit,” the doctor groaned.

Garak wore an amusingly puzzled expression in response to the human phrase “an arm and a leg.” Nevertheless, he seemed to get the gist of the statement.

“I would happily pay the fee for this session, doctor. He’s far less likely to monopolize me,” the tailor offered warmly.

Bashir gave him a soft smile. “Thank you, Garak...for everything. You put a lot in perspective for me.”

Garak shrugged off his gratitude. “It was no trouble at all. In fact, I think we should have a talk with the captain about how we can manage to have Mr. Bashir’s sentence carried out here with Constable Odo.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Bashir nodded vigorously.

They stood, surveying the illusion of Bajoran scenery. They both seemed reluctant to leave the tranquil atmosphere. The Cardassian was suddenly aware of Bashir’s pungent flowery scent.

“Well doctor, now that I have lathered you with massage oil, shouldn’t you like to go wash it off? Or should I lead you back into Quark’s smelling like a bride’s bouquet?”

Bashir chuckled. “People will wonder about what kind of indiscretions we’ve committed.”

Julian’s body language was switching from withdrawn to flirtatious. Worry clung to his aura like a dark cloud. No matter how he hooded his eyes or slinked closer to the Cardassian, anxious lines still furrowed his forehead.

“You shouldn’t push yourself. Not right now.” The tailor intoned firmly.

“But-“

“I’ll wait, dear doctor. Surely a little more time is not too depressing a prospect. I will be here.”

Bashir sighed, features relaxing. The golden hues of the sunset shimmered across his skin and brought out the flecks of gold and green in his irises. Garak watched the phenomenon with fascination.

“That will work, for now. I’m glad you’re here.” Julian said quietly.

“So am I, my dear doctor.” Elim’s lips formed a rare genuine smile. “So am I.”

* * *

The End.

 


End file.
